


Conjectures

by kezya



Category: Cadfael Chronicles - Ellis Peters
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-23
Updated: 2005-10-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kezya/pseuds/kezya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 'The Pilgrim of Hate'. Olivier de Bretagne finds himself strangely drawn to the sheriff of Shropshire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conjectures

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Taelle

 

 

A/N: Everything in italics is a quote from _The Pilgrim of Hate_ by Ellis Peters.

_Hugh studied him, and waited. It was a face worth studying, clean-boned, olive-skinned, fiercely beautiful, even with the golden, falcon's eyes thus hooded. The blue-black hair that clustered thickly about his head, clasping like folded wings, shot sullen bluish lights back from the candle's waverings. Daoud, born in Antioch, son of an English crusading soldier in Robert of Normandy's following, somehow blown across the world in the service of an Angevin baron, to fetch up here almost more Norman than the Normans... The world, thought Hugh, is not so great, after all, but a man born to venture may bestride it._

*/*/*

The sheriff of Salop is hardly what I have expected. Had I been asked what the man in charge of that troublesome border region could be like, I would have pictured a grey, grave old war-hound, somebody of years and experience; certainly not a young lordling not even my own age, hot on the chase after a group of lawless men and calling out to me in a breathless voice, _Hold him! The law wants him!_ Yet this is Hugh Beringar, and that is how I have met him for the first time.

The man whose collar I have grabbed as he tried to slink past me in the darkness turns out not to be one of the criminals after all. Beringar admits it somewhat ruefully, but even then I can hear the undercurrent of laughter in his voice. It hardly ever ceases, I soon learn, as if the young sheriff found the world a merry place and could hardly keep a smile off his lips. But then he notices a suspicious ring on my captive's hand and for a moment his voice is sharp, commanding, before it reverts to its usual kind tones. I find myself intrigued, to say the least.

We ride side by side to his house, talking on the way. I mention the Benedictine abbey I have noticed earlier, thinking of Brother Cadfael as I speak. It would be good to see him again, although my hopes are not high. There are more Benedictine houses in the shire and many of them closer to Ludlow. I refrain from mentioning Cadfael to Beringar, since I doubt an officer of King Stephen is familiar with the monks of Shrewsbury Abbey, but I resolve to make an inquiry at the cloister when I have the occasion.

A woman of great beauty awaits us at the gate of Beringar's house, her golden hair illuminated by the light from the torches. I guess her to be the sheriff's wife, and indeed she is, but when we finally enter the hall and stand in the light ourselves, my attention is drawn more to her husband, whose face I can see clearly for the first time.

A slight man he is, a good head lower than I am, but agile and graceful nonetheless; tanned like one who spends his days outside, and black-haired. He turns his lean face up at me, my own puzzlement reflected in his dark eyes. That face... surely it is not the first time I see it, after all! I perceive that he too must vaguely remember me, because he studies me with equal intent. Then the realisation comes in a brilliant flash and we both speak out at the same time. We have, indeed, met before, but I was Robert, the forester's son then, not Olivier de Bretagne. I have not forgotten the officer who gave me opportunity to rescue Yves from the robbers' clutches and he, it seems, has remembered me as well, for he quotes from memory the words I said, and his ever-present smile widens. A welcome surprise it is! It irked me to be forced to run from the man who had aided me, even unwittingly; now I can meet him honestly and say my proper thanks.

It is strange that two men who have seen each other but once, and that for a short time, should find so much to talk about on their second meeting - stranger still that I should find myself more drawn to the sound of my host's laughing voice than the actual content of his words. I abandon my mission with barely a token mention. Now that I know Hugh, I see that my task is a hopeless one, and I admit as much to him. This man could never be made to leave his liege lord's side, not if his life depended on it. Am I wrong not to press the matter further, not to try and wedge some doubt into his conviction? Perhaps, but then I never thought my lord d'Angers was right in choosing me as his envoy for this mission. As if he knew this, Hugh smiles at me and I am unable to look away.

I then outline to Hugh the second matter that has been entrusted to me, the murder of Rainald Bossard and the ill-boding disappearance of Luc Meverel, his heir. Hugh listens attentively, asking the right questions, offering plausible solutions: a keen, observant mind, for all his apparent flippancy. It is a pleasure to talk to him - a pleasure, I realise, to even sit with him in the light of the guttering candles and watch the flames reflected in those almond-shaped eyes. I feel uncomfortable all of a sudden, and more than a little scared. I have only ever felt anything like that for one woman and never a man. Have I been bewitched?

I observe Hugh carefully. Has he too fallen victim to this strange enchantment? He is leaning slightly forward in my direction, face inscrutable but hands clenching and unclenching in an unconscious little movement. Is the flush in his cheeks an effect of the wine, or is it something more? And have I imagined it, or has his voice really caught when he told me, _I hope you will not go for a day or two, I would know you better_? The air is hotter than one should expect, even with all the candles, and strangely heavy - and yet, if this is magic, I would that it did not end.

The evening races on, full of little gestures, checked in mid-move, and of breaths, slightly faster than they should be. Soon Hugh is leading me to my bedchamber and - is there a moment of hesitation?... I almost, almost hope... but then he bids me goodnight and returns to his wife, and I go inside and lie alone in the darkness. In the morning we rise early and break our fast together, guest and host, in perfect courtesy. Our conversation touches upon Luc Meverel again, and Hugh promises to take me to Brother Cadfael, whom, it turned out, he knows very well - but yet I find myself sneaking glances at him from the corner of my eye, and I fancy I can see the faint blush from last night still tingeing his cheeks.

*/*/*

Having concluded the Meverel affair to my satisfaction, I go to visit Brother Cadfael one more time. I have not seen him at Melangell's wedding; a surprise indeed, considering my friend's active participation in the events that preceded it. I don't think I shall ever forget how he single-handedly attacked three dangerous miscreants, bellowing and roaring, and flailing his arms, or how he sat on the one he had struck down and pushed his face into dirt! Once a crusader, always a crusader - there is some indomitable spirit in the good brother and not a thousand years behind cloister walls could hope to quench it.

I arrive at Cadfael's workshop in the gardens as per Melangell's instructions and enter with barely a knock. The place is in many ways like its owner: low and comfortable, and exuding a feeling of herb-laced warmth. I look around, a smile tugging at my lips, before I finally turn to face my host.

Cadfael greets me warmly. I hardly have time to blink before I find myself sitting on a bench, a cup of the monk's own nettle wine in my hand. Naturally, we soon turn to reminiscing. He asks about Ermina and I feel love and pride stir up in me at the thought of my dark-haired enchantress of a wife. There is a twinge of guilt underneath it, too, when my conscience reminds me of another one who has the selfsame hair and eyes, and whose face has for a short while relegated Ermina's from my mind's eye. I can hardly confess such longings to Cadfael, much though I trust his confidence, so I turn the conversation to the subject of my young brother-in-law instead. I am right in guessing that Cadfael must remember him fondly; Yves is a fine lad and he shows much promise as my lord Laurence's heir. Describing to the good brother our present happiness, I cast my memory back to that dismal winter of two years ago. Who would have thought that so much joy might come from such distress?

It is good to sit here with the kindly monk and talk of things past. Then, suddenly, the present day invades into the quiet world of the hut in the person of none other than Hugh Beringar, his sharp eyes ablaze, his whole slight frame quivering with the excitement of sudden change. I half-read the news in his face before he even speaks it, much as he tries to hide his exultation for my sake. The tides of war are turned. My lady the Empress Maud is fled from London, chased out by the angry burghers.

My joyful reunion with Brother Cadfael is cut unexpectedly short, but I feel no regret. My path stretches before me clearly, as it always has. Who are we, mere mortals, to try and stop the wheel of Fortune? First, I must to Oxford, to my liege lady's side. Then... then it is to Ermina, to my Ermina... my beloved wife. As I repeat her name to myself, and think of the golden-haired Lady Beringar in the house by Saint Mary's church, I know that it really, truly is better this way.

It is not easy to part with Brother Cadfael, but my heart tells me we shall meet again. As for Hugh, who knows? He is uncharacteristically serious when I say that my loyalty to the Empress stands unwavering. After a moment of silence, he repeats what I have said to him that evening at his house.

_To tell you truth, now I've met you I expected nothing less._

There is an understanding between us now that goes deeper than loyalties and politics, and Hugh's voice tells me that he too is aware of that. Whether we shall meet again as friends, enemies on the field of battle or never at all, neither of us will forget.

I kiss Cadfael goodbye and walk out into the sun, leaving them behind: the kindly old man who has been like a father to me and the sharp-eyed young lord with the thin, quirky mouth. I would know them both better, if time and chance allowed, and each for his own reasons; but as the wheel of Fortune moves, so must I, and all remains in a sphere of conjecture.

*/*/*

_"I wish to God," said Hugh, gazing after him, "he was of our party!"_

 


End file.
